Ice on fire
by justlumos
Summary: 73rd Hunger Games. Domitia, from District 11, gets reaped next to her best friend Marion... Are the odds in their favor?


"ENOUGH BAD LUCK FOR A LIFETIME!" I thought to myself as I fell onto the iced surface of the lake and felt my ankle sprain to the side.

Like if being in the Hunger Games wasn't enough. Next to get reaped next to your best friend. The odds aren't in his favor. I think he died already.

There were just eight or nine of us. I started to recap the games in my head, since the morning I got reaped.

It was really hot in District Eleven. I was standing stiff in the fourteen-year-old-girls roped section. I remember biting my finger open: I didn't want anyone I loved to get reaped. Guess it didn't work, because the strange woman who read the names said eagerly "Domitia Hayes!". I gave a shriek I believe was only audible for dogs as I begun to walk towards her. I sat on the wooden chair on the stage, looking paranoid and turning my head sharply with every noise. It all got worse when the woman's hand came out of the boys' ball.

"Marion McLayvely!" she screamed with a huge, plastic smile on her pinkish face.

I almost pass out. So much for nobody I loved getting reaped. Either me or my best friend was going to have to die.

I vaguely remember anything from then until I got to the catacombs under the arena. I went all the way from the Training Center in a hovercraft, with my mentor Seeder, my prep team, Marion, his mentor Chaff, and his prep team. We squeezed our hands until we had to get on our room for the final prepping.

My stylist, Zandra, she was amazing. She was the best person from the Capitol I've ever known.

I heard the countdown begin: I stepped into my plate and closed my eyes. I couldn't stand it.

The metal plate started to rise. I took my last look at Zandra.

I looked around as soon as I was above ground level. It looked like a really old forest, with extremely high trees which looked unclimbable, and small puddles everywhere. That puddles were really deep. I don't know why everyone was that surprised: It wasn't a much weird place.

I snapped myself to reality and focused on the golden Cornucopia. There were packs: I quickly counted forty-eight. They were separated into groups of four: every bag in each group was labeled with a number. The first group read 1. The second one, 2. And so until 12. I guessed they were meant to be two for each tributes: a big one and a small one.

I made myself a promise. I promised that, if I made it to the top 8, I would not flee. That was my running strategy up until now- fleeing. If I made it to the top 8, I would start fighting. Killing. Like an actual tribute.

The bell rang. Half the tributes, including those from 1 and 2, stood hypnotized on their plates. I was lucky to be a fast runner: I managed to snatch my bags and one of the small ones from Twelve too, before the Careers were even out of their plates. I started to climb a tree, but it had no low branches and I had to run. I ran like mad, not even trying to take a peek at Marion. The hovercraft was the last time I saw him.

I believe nothing really happened since day three, in which I found a tree with low branches. I jumped from tree to tree from then on, resourcing from some little nuts that grew in the tallest branches of the trees, and the food from the small packs, both mine and the District Twelve's unlucky boy's. There was plenty of food in his bag. Dried fruit, mostly, but also an apple and a pack of crackers. I had been hungry my whole life: I went five days on that and puddle water purified with iodine I found on my own small pack. I hadn't opened the big one yet.

I didn't figure what could be in it until I opened it. I found a tree with a big enough fork for me to sit on, camouflaged by the height and leaves. In the pack I found a black cloth wrapped up: it was a jacket, and on the inside it had knives. Lots of different knives. I counted twelve. I guessed everyone had gotten the same pack of weapons: every bag looked the same.

I was startled to see a shadow move beneath me, in a slightly lower branch of my tree. It jumped to another tree and the moonlight lightened his face slightly: it was the District Seven boy. I remember admiring his camouflage skills, but I think I've never heard him speak.

The boy stepped on a loose branch and it snapped. The noise apparently startled another contestant: I saw a knife flying and then the red flash of short hair which meant the girl from District Three was here. I did not like her at training. She was too arrogant.

Almost without a second thought, I grabbed a long, thin knife from the inside of my jacket and threw it at the Career girl. It hit her on the right knee: it she dug it quickly out but still couldn't keep on running. She yelled "BERTIE!", and I think she was calling her District partner. By the time the guy showed up, another knife had reached the girl and hit her on he chest. The cannon fired just as I saw the moonlight reflecting on the district Three boy's square glasses. He tripped with a tree branch on his race, which made him even more alert. He removed the knife from the redhead's chest and threw it at random at a tree. A minute later, I found out that wasn't as random as I thought: the small boy from District Ten I think I heard someone call Paul fell from a branch above mine, dead. I think it was his knife that killed the girl. Another cannon.

There was silence for a few minutes, everybody stood frozen on the spot. Where was the district Seven boy? I looked frantically behind me and I saw him signaling me for silence.

Suddenly something unexpected happened. The boy from Three and the boy from Seven looked at each other, as if knowing they were there, and nodded. The boy from 7 jumped down the tree and walked towards the contestant from 3, then they shook hands. I was in presence of the forming of an alliance.

My ears had not expected to hear words in this ambient. But the Seven boy whispered "wait. I want her too" and walked towards me, with a defying look on his barely lit face. He held out his hand to me -I was already on a low branch- and asked "allies?".

Weirded but relieved, I shook it and said "allies".

I must admit I felt really relieved to have somebody to watch my back, even though I knew I couldn't completely trust them. It gave this thing certain sense of humanity. Even now that the number of us was getting reduced and we were almost on the final eight.

I wondered what happened to Marion. I was determined to watch the sky transmission that night.

We went hunting, but there was nothing alive in the woods except for us. For the next three days, we held ourselves on the nuts and water, but we got hungry, so we opened one of the two packs of crackers we had. They were sorta humid after a week, but they were edible.

I wanted nuts. So I started to climb the nearest tree, decided to slide some of them in my backpack. But just as I was about to get to the lower nut branch, the one I was standing on snapped and I fell on a frozen puddle. It was very cold.

I felt my ankle sprain to the side.

Luckily, Bertie had a roll of bandages in his big bag. Guess they had the same weapons, but the resemblance stopped there.

After I cracked some ice and wrapped my ankle with it and a bandage, we kept going, a little slowed down because of my ankle. When night came, we climbed up a very wide tree with a hole in it that looked like a huge nest, and we set ourselves to sleep there.

The Capitol seal lit the sky, the anthem played. District One, dead. District Three girl, District Five and Six. District Eight. District Nine boy. District Ten and Twelve girls. Good- most the worst opponents were gone. But how? Did the arena affect them somehow, as I had seen them at the launch, standing hypnotized at their plates?

Most importantly, Marion was alive. Somehow. Somewhere. Then I remembered I shouldn't be happy- I didn't want to see my friend die.

The boy from 7 who turned out to be called Johnam and I fell asleep, while Bertie guarded. We weren't expecting trouble, but heck, with all this quietness, I think we had forgotten we were in the Games. We were awaken in the middle of the night by three vulture mutts.

Bertie shook my shoulder, and I opened my eyes to a fallen mutt, and two more attacking. The first word that escaped my lips was "dammit".

Bertie and Johnam were throwing knives at the mutts: together, they took out another one. Meanwhile I was sharpening a tree branch to use as a spear. I was sort of good with those. As I found a pretty straight branch, I grabbed a triangle-pointed knife and some bandage, and tied the knife to the branch. Look, I made myself a good spear.

The mutt that was left looked like the biggest one, and it wouldn't stop attacking. Bertie had a huge, deep cut on his left arm, and Johnam's face splashed blood. I got a few cuts on my arms myself.

Once I finished the spear, I positioned myself behind the boys as another mutt appeared. This one was smaller, and I just had to hit it with my spear to finish it. I removed my spear and turned around. I didn't expect what I was seeing: Johnam falling from the nest, his arm completely torn off by the mutt's beak, the mutt falling behind it with Bertie's curved knife stuck in its eye socket. The cannon fired just as he hit the floor. Angered, I threw my spear at the remaining vulture. It hit it on the lower part of the chest. It fell to the floor, spinning.

Staying alert a few more minutes, I looked at Bertie. He looked weirded. There were just two of us now, and I was afraid. Nothing kept Bertie from killing me: he could just slit my throat with his knife right now. But no. He was the smart kind: he didn't like to kill unless completely necessary.

We decided to move sleeping places. We walked in silence for an hour or so until we found a tall tree with two forks on its branches. We climbed and lied on them. I closed my eyes and instantly fell asleep.

Apparently, somewhere through the night, Bertie had moved places, because I woke up with him lying next to me on the fork. Human contact, warmness, felt nice. I waited for him to wake up: I didn't want to be the one to interrupt his calmness.

I don't know why I was thinking that way.

I noticed his glasses were softly slipping off his face, so I removed them. He looked so calm on his sleep.

Ah! I had to bring myself to a stop. Everyone's an enemy here.

The Capitol seal flashed on the sky again, so I assumed the sun had just come up.

Boy from 4. Johnam. Girl from 7. Quentin, the boy from Twelve.

Capitol seal. I tried to think. Who was alive? There were eight of us, I was sure of that, because of the big eight that flashed next to the Capitol seal.

District 2. Bertie from 3. Girl from 4. Girl from 9. Girl from 10. Both from 11.

Top eight. That meant no more running for me. Time to start fighting.

Bertie was asleep. I woke him up, we ate the three crackers we had left, and decided to start walking again the next day, but in a different direction. We would wake early and start immediately.

After settling everything, we both fell asleep in our bags.

The next morning we did as promised. We got up and started walking east. We walked a few miles without even seeing a single animal. We were passing a pretty clearing when we heard a boy scream with pain ahead of us. We quickly climbed up a tree and jumped to the next one- the noises from the battle going on would cover ours and the ones from the leaves.

When we were about to reach a clearing, we saw the actual battle: District 2 was attacking with lots of knives, but the girl from 10 could really defend herself.

We saw her kick and spin, run, throw knives. It was all a mess, and we were paralyzed with fear that anyone would hear us. We couldn't do anything but stare.

I really don't know how, but eventually, the powerful girl from 10 killed the boy from 2: I doubt it had been his district partner who stuck that knife into his forehead. Cannon shot.

The girl from two, who I vaguely recall being called Leyden, stared at 10 in disbelief. None of them moved, as if surprised of 10's power. But she may have been good at hand to hand battle, but she wasn't smart. Leyden turned as if to leave and she did, too, in the opposite direction. But halfway through the distance between the center of the clearing and the nearest tree, Leyden turned around and sent flying a knife that got stuck in the middle of 10's back. The cannon fired: Leyden had been successful.

But I hadn't. Our tree didn't have many branches: I was hanging myself from my hands from a higher branch. I slipped and kicked a bunch of leaves, which made Leyden startle and look. That stopped me in my tracks- even though I was falling, I tried not to make noise.

Two, three, four, five minutes like that, until Leyden, who apparently wasn't too bright either, started walking. And that's when Bertie threw a knife that pierced her neck.

Surprised, I allowed myself to fall off the branch. I wasn't too high: the landing wasn't hard. Bertie climbed down, and the cannon fired. Leyden was gone.

Time to walk again.

I got out my curved knife: if prey appeared, I wanted to be ready. Bertie doesn't hunt. He lived on his backpack supplies.

We walked for three hours before I saw even a rabbit. The thing was pretty quick, but Bertie trapped it in his pack and I killed it. We kept walking until we found a clearing where we could make a small fire, but the top of the trees closed over it as a roof. It was perfect. Bertie cleaned the rabbit and burned its skin and entrails -nasty job- and we ate. Nothing exciting much had happened that day.

Except for the tidal wave coming toward us from the south.

The only thing I can recall from then on is trying to come afloat again for several minutes. I lost consciousness after a while. And I opened my eyes and saw Bertie's face inches from mine.

I try to get up but fall back against a hard rock surface. I had low blood pressure, I needed to eat something.

It seemed like Bertie had read my mind. He handed me a dried meat stick.

"No. No, no, no. I won't let you. It's your last."

"Eat", he said. "I can hunt and you need this". His voice was reassuring and warm. It somehow made me eat it, which made me feel much better.

But the game just wouldn't leave us alone. Two girls, 9 and 4, came running and panting out of the woods on our right. They seemed very upset. 4- her actual name was Trina- was shouting at 9- Wilma. "HOW COULD YOU LET THIS" - she pointed to her bloody left arm- "HAPPEN TO ME! WE WERE ALLIES, YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT ME!"

That was pretty odd, since Trina was seventeen and brawny and Wilma fourteen and tiny.

The yelling kept on going. "YOU ARE A MUMBLING, STUPID, BRAINLESS PIECE OF-" her insult was interrupted by the flying butcher knife slitting through the air and landing on her neck. She slammed to the ground, hit her head, and the cannon sounded. Sort of on the background, Wilma was looking confused. Something had driven her sort of mad, like that girl from 4 who ended up winning some years ago.

The sender of the knife still didn't reveal himself. But what had driven Wilma into her trance sure did. A bunch of wild- wild what? What were they? They looked like unusually big and hairy chickens. At first Bertie and I felt tempted to laugh. But their beaks were bloody, and their eyes bloodthirsty. We ran. "WILMA!" I yelled. "RUN!".

But Wilma started doing the weirdest thing. She held her arm out to one of the chicken mutts. It stopped. I stopped too, I braked in my tracks, mesmerized by the confusing scene. I forced Bertie up a tree- apparently, the chickens couldn't climb. Wilma started riding the thing as if it was a harmless pet! At first the mutt played along, but then it- or was it the Gamemakers?- that it had an actual contestant on its back, and started shaking like mad in the middle of the bunch. Wilma fell. I was frozen, I wanted to throw knives at the mutts, stop them from ruthlessly murdering innocent Wilma, who appeared to have survived up to the top five only under Trina's protecting arm. But I was frozen. I had chosen a tree too thin and climbed too high- if I moved a single limb, both Bertie and I would fall down and be ironically eaten by chickens.

So I just had to bear watching them dispart Wilma.

After a minute or so, I blocked my mind and stared at the top of the trees. The mutts' loud quacking blocked Wilma's surprisingly low and few shrieks of pain.

I kept on doing that until the cannon fired and the chickens retrieved themselves back into the depths of the woods.

We waited a few minutes until it was safe to go down.

Two were down: Wilma and Trina. That meant there were only three of us left. Me, Bertie... but I couldn't recall who the third one was, until- Marion! He suddenly came to my mind. He had to be the one throwing the knife that slit Trina's neck.

I called as loud as I could, now sure nothing would attack me. "MARION! IT'S ME! PLEASE BE OKAY!"

My shrieks were rewarded. A wild Marion slid down a thin tree branch, looking secure but concerned. Sure he was, he just spent a while in the Hunger Games.

"Dom. You're fine." he said in a voice lower, deeper than usual.

I was so relieved, yet so worried. Three of us. What would happen next?

"Yes, yes I am fine, Mar... I am" I said, as I took my hand to my forehead- oh oh. Wait.

My legs unscrambled themselves wildly out of the tree's branches and I slammed to the grassy ground.

The concussion wasn't hard enough to knock me out, but it knocked out my nerves. I didn't feel anything but blurriness.

Marion ran to me. I noticed he didn't have a backpack either, just two spare knives tucked under his belt. He also realized that, apparently, because he looked at Bertie with a face that asked for help.

I had fallen on my back, so I was face up to the sky, awkwardly blueish. Marion lifted my head and slowly placed it on a bunch of grass and low plants he had collected and tied together. He was so good with plants back home.

Not one of us had a backpack, but Bertie had saved some knives and a roll of bandages under his jacket. He pulled them all out and unrolled some bandage for my right shoulder. Marion was watching him closely with a stern look on his face.

I softly looked to my left as Bertie was fixing the bandage on my shoulder, and looked at Marion's face. He really did look nice. The girls back home had a reason to want him so much. I noticed the sweet, paternal look in his eyes and the worry plastered on his bloody and dirty face...

But I didn't have time to notice more, as I felt the cold of Bertie's sharp knife blade digging into my chest and the mad look in his face. Marion was frozen but still looked paternal... And that was the last of him I could make out, in fact, the last of anything.


End file.
